Memory
by gilgameshforeternity
Summary: His smell. His voice. Fire, he was the sun, he cauterized the seeping edges.
1. Meeting The Spider

disclaimer: i don't own the characters.

(A/N) X-posted on my deviantart (it was on my tumblr for a little while)

Been trying to get more descriptive with my writing, as a result, I ended up with this and I'm pretty happy with it. I wanted to start over with Sniper/Spy. I didn't like how the other story on my account was going so I scrapped it. This is going to be the start of something epic I hope.

Enjoy.

* * *

><p>That smell.<p>

_His _smell, it melts and drips into the cracks of carefully tended memories, sticky sweet like heated sugar and as fleeting as the last signs of summer are brushed away by winter's sharp hands. It coaxes forgotten memories from beneath bittersweet layers of delicate silk. The scent seeps into every fiber of his being, rubs off with the slightest brush of clothing and lingers for hours later when respawn hasn't claimed his forsaken soul.

He denies that it dredges up memories of fragrant summers spent running through the woods, barefooted over ruddy stone and feeling the earth itself come alive to his puckish nature. Or how it reminds him of sitting pressed against his father's side, a succulent plum held reverently between piano wire thin fingers. Far reaching rays of the setting sun kiss cooled drinks on the table, made the sky look like the iridescent colors of a hummingbird's breast and he bites into the wine colored fruit.

The silver lining around his memory unravels faster than he can pick up the strands and the world around him is thrust into sharp clarity, a myriad of revolting smells and disturbing sights. His job, one of woven lies and careful facades, was the one thing he knew would never fail him.

It was an art form, he was the painting. Layer upon layer of exotic paints, each losing their vibrancy as the years go by, no longer did he see the world as an unending orchard from the window of his bedroom. Dull grays mixed with lurid reds and drab blues, the edge of his canvas had been reached and the vestiges of his sanity dripped off the edge into the abyss of time.

Time.

He had all the time in the world to perfect his art, to scrape away unwanted layers of festering paint. Some days he could feel the steady, chilling, brush against the walls of his mind as parts of him liquefied. Most days the paint merely stagnated, globed onto his crowded canvas and waited to dry as another infected layer.

The Spy takes his moment of hesitation, mulls it over with the taste of bile at the back of his tongue and lets it slip away into the caverns of his soul before continuing on, disregarding how bleak his life had become. Each corner he turned, the feel of sunlight greeting his face as he exited the building, it became one linear dream, tightly stitched together like the old patchwork quilts he remembered dragging around the house. Swathed in their warmth and familiarity he was once a caterpillar floating in the haze of love and comfort. To his misfortune the memories only served to unsettle the bile within him, he could feel it bubble up and overflow as he stabbed the unguarded back of RED's Medic.

Subsequently, as he drew back to a safe distance and peered from behind a corner, he watched and recited in his head the scene that was to follow. RED Medic drowned in his own blood, called out to the RED Heavy and together they wrote the last words of this fleeting, tragic, love story. Pulling out the weight against his hollow heart the Spy let it settle in his hand, waited for the enemy Heavy to kneel like the chivalrous knight he might have been in some Shakespearean drama years earlier and aimed. There was no dramatic music as he pulled the trigger, time did not slow down for him and when the Heavy was slumped over his doomed teammate, then he strode away. The Spy did not wait for conformation on his first victim's health, merely content to know his death was as slow and painful as his own

When ceasefire called the teams back, enticed them with a meal to eat and a bed to sleep on, the Spy did not come immediately. Standing, stoic and quiet he watched the usual suspects linger behind, combing the field for any sort of useful material. The Engineers buzzed around the desolate land like bees searching for that perfect flower, only to be thwarted by the tone of a lone Soldier, scolding and herding them away. The end of the day brought back the quiet of a desert's cooling wasteland and perfectly trained mercenaries, now domesticated dogs, taught to fear the consequences of making a ruckus in the night settled in. The whisper of a breeze ambled over the rock the Spy had taken a squatting position on, it, like most things, was not a refined position, but he could care less now.

From the darkness he felt the wind roll over his shoulders, bringing with it the tormentingly familiar smell he had not realized now conditioned him to think of his past in such a way it hurt. Layers peeled back, revealed beneath them memories still sore and vivid, he was still sickeningly fond of that house, with it's mahogany tables and ornate carpets.

"Have you come to shoo me away, like that bumbling Soldier?"

"I ain't one for bossing people around."

That voice.

_His_voice. It rose and fell and wrapped itself around his heart, constricting tighter and tighter. There were no limits it seemed, to how the man could torture him. He wallowed in it, let it remind him he was more than a pawn on a chessboard, ready to die for the king he never saw.

The stone he had perched on overlooked a great deal of the battlefield, though just getting to it was an ordeal in itself. His eyes slid to look at the noise his company was making. In the darkness, beneath the moon he watched spidery long legs bend just for him, coming closer so as to press their thighs together. The man finally settled, his RED shirt washed out in the moonlight, but his glasses gleamed a territorial yellow. Like a spider he waited, patiently for his cunning victim to participate in the dance.

"Do you dream?" The Spy asks quietly.

"Sometimes, don't remember them too much though."

They breathed, quietly, evenly until they were matched, drinking in the air and chilling their lungs. Spy was not content to just sit there feeling the warmth of his tall companion, making him ache and burn around the edges of his canvas. Fire, he was the sun, he cauterized the seeping edges.

"I dream about my life before this."

"Yeah?"

"It is torture."

He takes a steadying breath, reaching out for a gloved hand and when it does appear, sliding into his palm, he holds it tightly. There is little warmth from beneath the leather and Sniper realizes the man must have been out there longer then he originally thought. The distraction he sees in the man's profile is troubling, he's seen this before, watched for days as his enemy degrades, erodes and washes away. It's days before he sees this mannequin of a hired killer come back to life.

"I must go."

Leather slips away, comes up to flutter along the edge of his jaw, calling him forward and into a kiss that barely lasts. The Spy is gone in a matter of moments, his smell lingering against the sharp edges of his chapped lips

* * *

><p>P.S. I have a tubmlr now, feel free to stalk me~ look for link on my profile!<p> 


	2. The King's Forest

disclaimer: i don't own the characters.

(A/N) pardon any errors... its late for me... wish I had a trustworthy beta... le sigh~

* * *

><p>Morning's were never quiet, always the dogs bustling and talking, <em>existing<em> within their small world of changing maps and routine battles. He was awake, achingly aware of how he clutched the pillow beneath him and breathing deep as if he could smell the Sniper laying beside him. It twisted into his heart, nestled inside the chambers and became what pumped the blood through his body, his life force.

Rising from his bed, joining the other mercenaries at the front lines he felt his instincts shift toward the creature he needed to be. He was no longer Puck, no longer the thin armed calloused hand boy who devoured grapes by the bunches. His transformation came from those years of feeling blood soak through expensive material, no longer Puck, now Oberon, King of the Fairies. Oh where was his Titania.

Out on the battlefield he was a menace, teasing Pyro's, sapping entries and plunging his knife into any RED shirt he saw. As the battle waged on, the bodies slowly piled up, today he was a beast thirsting for blood and drinking his fill, feeling the power of his fallen enemy flowing into his body. On any other day he would never thinking of trying to take the enemy Heavy before he took out the Medic, but today he was king, ruler of this mad forest and he did as he pleased.

Tracking them was easy, the sound of an ever turning barrel echoed off the cement walls and rattled in his brain, made him fidget to shut the damned thing up. Again and again RED Heavy accompanied RED Medic to an injured teammate, stood guard like the good little soldier he was. There was a pattern to their inane relationship, Medic never took his eyes off of Heavy, and his thundering protector watched him and everything else, no wonder he always lost his doctor to anyone that was cunning enough to evade the large man. He followed them for a good fifteen minutes before using the injured Scout to put his plan into effect.

Medic knelt by the loud mouthed brat and spoke to him in a condescending tone, eyes flicking between his patient and his bodyguard. Spy walked around the scene, invisible to their untrained eyes and placed himself between the Medic and Heavy, he was the thing that went bump in the night. Reaching out, he jerked his hand back and slammed it down into where he figured Heavy's lungs were hidden beneath that dark vest. The flurry of commotion was instantaneous, Heavy screamed, Medic whirled around to see stab wounds opening up out of nowhere. Scout shouted below, the wound on his side still gushing as he was left for chopped liver. Medic saw the ripple in the air as his Heavy stumbled forward. Swinging the needle gun in his hand up he shot blindly, anger welling up inside his chest, frantic desperation pumping adrenaline into his system. Blistering hot adrenaline, he yelled out, sidestepping to his Heavy, the man groaned in agony.

"I know you are here. Show yourself!"

Spy resisted laughing, oh how amusing it was to watch the little trolls play in the forest, unawares of their king's fickle nature. The scene ended in a ruckus of shouts and again the chivalrous knight fell, his beloved beside him. There was just one loose end to tie. Scout had managed to stumble to a corner, pain writ on his shapely face, dirty bandaged hangs clutching his side. Wisps of smoke curled around his face, his blue suit clean, his knife stained and his face, calm.

"You rat bastard!"

He ignored his prey's profanity, the little bird needed to be put out of its misery. Heavy's strength pumped through him, Medic's wild stare now upon his facade as he stalked closer, dodging the empty scattergun tossed at him, beautifully desperate was his victim. In interest he watched the RED Scout struggle to his feet, swaying as more blood poured from his side, the hand clutching it a poor treatment. Teasing the boy, watching him lash out with tired fury made the wait worth it. Finally he slit the poor bird's throat, watched it twitch and gargle and die.

Spy found his spider, sitting like always, in his den. He waited in the corner, his lips quirking whenever the man muttered about a particularly good or bad shot. When he could no longer stand it he meandered forward, greeting the man as he always did. Gently, Spy let his finger's creep up the man's spine, felt the man tense up then relax when he spoke.

"'ello my little spider."

Not taking his eye from the scope RED Sniper grunted, "Look who decided to show up."

"Do not be mad, I-"

"Sit down."

Huffing Spy narrowed his eyes but obliged, dropping unceremoniously on the edge of the crate Sniper was occupying he forced the man to scoot forward. Leaning back he pressed their backs flush together, reaching up he plucked the hat from the man's head and fiddled with it a moment. The man behind him growled faintly, only to be quieted as he took another shot. Eyes half-lidded Spy enjoyed the feeling of the coarse hat, brushing it along his lips he became lost in lull of their breathing. Closing glassy blue eyes he could remember reaching out to feel the stubble along his father's strong jaw, rubbing his bare cheek against it and laughing when his father said something funny.

The day dragged on, the air becoming a haze of dust and smelled heavily of gun powder. Sniper found solace in the fact that when he left his nest he hadn't died once, the Spy having cohabited with him the rest of the day hissed into his ear when someone was ambling up the ladder or stalking below, rocket or grenade at the ready. Though now he had the interesting sight of his hat trailing behind him, seemingly floating in the air, supported by his invisible partner.

If he had known the Spy was going to tail after him, he might've cleaned the van up a little. Opening the door wide, wider than usual, he watched the hat bounce past him and gave the vacant lot behind the base a sweep of his eyes before stalking inside. It was dark save the soft glow of a cigarette floating in mid-air, his lips quirked to the side in amusement.

With his invisible specter standing to the side he moseyed around the small van, putting things away, a little bashful of his personal things scattered about. Spy watched, interested in the trivial things his host did and enjoyed how... comfortable the van was, even if a little messy.

"Make yourself at home, m'gonna grab some food, bring ya some if ya want."

"Oui, that would be nice."

Left alone Spy inspected his surroundings before finding the bedroom. Standing in the door way he could _smell_ Sniper, almost taste him and he felt light headed as he glided into where the Sun slept.

When Sniper came back, a plate of food in his hand with an extra helping he found Spy lazing on his bed, pillow clutched near his face and icy blue eyes flicked up. Swallowing thickly he wanted to say something, but nothing came out, he just offered the plate up.

By the time they were done his enemy was pressed close against his side, eyes slipping over the shapes of his face and he resisted his instincts when the man ignored all meanings of personal space and crept even closer. Before him Spy did not stand a chance, Sniper unawares as to how he had carved a spot right into the man's heart, only stared on as the BLU looked... not in this world, if he had to describe it.

Slowly, cautiously he moved closer, the fragile seams of their dreamworld fluttered around them, woven together with spider's silk, both willingly ensnared. His Titania had taken the form of a man who hid behind dusty glasses and the scope of a rifle. Sniper held still, he could feel himself being cornered, no, he let himself be cornered, let the skittish creature before him assume he had been caught. When exactly he had first been twisted into this weird game he couldn't remember, only the smell of cologne and cigarettes floated through his memories.

The feel of his captor pressing into the side of his neck, nuzzling between his vest and breathing deep made him dizzy, made him grateful he had turned the lights off. This man, his visage, the mask that kept prying eyes away, he had seen a thousand times over, but never had he had the chance to enjoy their meeting the way he did now. Spy drowned himself, wallowing in the source of his sanity, let it fill him up and wash over his brittle canvas. Now more than ever he felt at home, felt comforted and safe. He could see rows and rows of vines, sagging with their plump fruit, waiting to be picked by the little rogue that stalked their orchard. He could hear his mother calling, smell breakfast and see his father smiling.

Opening his eyes he relished the darkness, let it seep into his skin and take over his nerves. Pushing forward Spy felt his fairy kin comply, laying out the length of the bed as he molded himself to the man's body. Heat and warmth took the place of darkness beneath his skin, made him breath deeper, greeting the arm that wrapped around his chest with an encouraging hum.

Following the smell, the familiar lines of his captive royalty he found petal soft lips. Hesitant in their parting, like the shy flower caught on a sunny and rainy day, they opened for him. Fusing their lips he drank deep, enjoyed the feel of heavy musk enveloping him and savored it like fine wine. From outside their bowery looked dark and deserted, only the willing participants in their dangerous dance knew of the activities inside. In the darkness Spy felt the hands that had been playing along the edge of his jacket slide up to cup around his face, detaching them so their paced breath filled the gap.

"Spy," Sniper's rough voice, silk sliding over metal, rose from the murky scene in front of him. "Are you alright?"

Inside, his mind worked furtively to come up with an answer, 'yes' might've been his consort's desired answer, but all he could come up with was a quiet, "I do not know."

The hands around his face tugged him forward, his body cried out at the chaste kiss the man gave him. Soft and sad the hands let him go, but he did not return to feast. Clutching at his bed mate's shirt Spy returned to where he had begun, his lips tingling whenever they touched Sniper's warm flesh.

"Would you be abject to my staying tonight?"

"Course not."

Sniper let the man rustle around, jacket coming off, shoes placed beside the bed and gloves... When he felt bare fingertips play along the length of his neck he didn't expect the wave of dark arousal that burned through his body. His muscles trembled and he took a steadying breath before turning on his side and pulling his enemy closer. Wrapped inside their dream, warm and exhausted neither spoke as sleep crawled over them.


	3. Creeping Poison

disclaimer: i don't own the characters.

(A/N) I'm totally not making OC's, I wouldn't even know where to start for the characters Sniper and Spy, but for the sake of this story and for the character's sanity, I'm breaking down and giving them names... don't kill me. Kind of a filler/background chapter because college is really cramping my style right now.

I mean... you guys see what I'm doing right? So I don't have to come out and blatantly say it?

I hope...

* * *

><p><em>Victor was his name, taller than any man Spy had seen before and he loved it. Dark hair sprinkled with grey reminded him of the ash that fell from the cigarettes he would smoke everyday. When he found out the man would retire from his job, and finally take up permanent residence where he belonged, light filled up inside his chest, happiness and joy. He loved his father more than he did his mother.<em>

_"Alphonse!"_

_The sweet call wavered out of the house, so familiar in it's higher tones it made anyone close enough to hear look up, wondering if maybe they were the one being called, maybe even hoping._

_"What mama?"_

_"Dinner will be ready soon!"_

_"Okay!"_

_Immediately the warning slipped from his mind as he continued to creep across their back porch, for the past half hour he had been chasing a butterfly. He was cunning though, at least, he thought of himself as such. His father was always surprised when he snuck up from behind to throw his arms around the man's shoulders, so he must have been pretty good he figured. Across the plane of their sprawling backyard, acres of orchards, the sun burned at the horizon, the rays swept over the land, lit the trees on fire and shone through the delicate leaves of grape bunches. Garishly yellow and beautiful the warmth of the sun was slowly leaving the earth, cooling the grass and lulling flowers to sleep._

_Lopping after the mischievous butterfly Alphonse could only furrow his brow as he continued to try and obtain the fluttering gem. Reaching out with his thin arms, baked golden by the sun, he was finally bested by the insect as it flew higher and higher for the safety of the trees. Arms falling to his sides he huffed and stared after it, pretending he had the eyes of a hawk, trying to tell where it had disappeared into the leaves._

_"Little one, what are you doing?"_

_"Papa!"_

_A squeal of delight tumbled from his lips as he was scooped up into strong arms. He recognized that voice anywhere, and his smell! Nuzzling into the side of his father's neck Alphonse wrapped his arms around the man. Inhaling he laughed as his father exclaimed things in French, Spanish and languages he had yet to be taught._

_"Mama will be mad if we do not hurry!"_

_"But-"_

_"No 'buts', Alphonse"_

_Pouting he resigned to being carried, somewhat confused as he had not even seen his father outside that evening! Safe in his father's arms he watched their house come closer. As much as he liked his mother's cooking, he liked playing outside better. Laying against his father's shoulder he closed his eyes and felt the world become nothing but the beat of a strong heart and the heavy scent of the earth and cologne. He loved his father, more than anything in the world._

Waking up meant having to face the reality of what he had become and realize that now more than ever he was alone. Sleep was his paradise, sleep was rolling hills of grass and loving smiles from his family. Waking up to the heavy arm around his waist Spy laid quietly, he was not so rude as to rustle around and wake his bed mate, the darkness he saw from underneath the curtains next to the bed coaxed him back into sleep. Pressing closer into the chest of the Sniper he relished how safe being in those arms made him feel, nostalgia pulled him back under to continue dreaming.  
><em><br>There were moments that Alphonse remembered, moments he never wanted to end, ever. A bad dream the night before had sent him stumbling through the dark to his parent's bedroom, hot tears blurring everything and only his mother's soft voice to lead him. Fumbling onto the bed he found himself between his mother and father, tears kissed away and the low rumble of his father's voice in the darkness, recalling the man places his job had taken him._

_Back then, when the world was one long summer of playful days and exploring the surrounding forest, Alphonse found that waking up meant a new adventure every day. Sunlight poured in from the long lace curtains on one side of his parent's room, behind the delicate shades, glass doors lead out to a large deck that sprawled between the bedrooms of the upper floor. Laying on his stomach, dark hair a mess and thin arms pulled in tight to his chest, Alphonse finally woke to the sun peeking at him from the valley. Mumbling and whining softly he rubbed his eyes, turning over to get away from the harsh light, only to find himself bumping into his father's chest. Feeling behind himself he realized his mother had already gotten up, no doubt making breakfast, and left the loves of her life to sleep._

_Looking up Alphonse rubbed his eyes again, making doubly sure to get the sand from them before quietly peering at his father. In the back of his mind Alphonse could only question if one day he would be like his father, strong, confident, loving._

_"Papa?"_

_Sounding small and meek, he wondered if maybe he should leave his father to sleep, but that would mean leaving the bed, leaving the man he idolized. Closing his eyes he scooted closer, nuzzling into his father's chest, breathing in what he had decided handsome smelled like and tried to fall back asleep. Except his father had also become acquainted with the sun's painful glare and moved._

_Yelping Alphonse felt himself be squished underneath his father's arm as the man moved away. Freezing his father peered down at the mop of dark hair poking out from the covers, awake now and aware he wasn't alone._

_"Alphonse,"_

_"Morning papa."_

_Smiling Alphonse listened to the sound of his father's laugh, of his light apology and soon he was laying over his father's chest, arms flailing about as he recalled the dream he had, had. Whenever his father spoke or chuckled he could feel it vibrate into his own chest, as if the man below him was more than his blood relative, as if he was a part of his being, of what defined him. He knew it would have to end and it was his father who finally broke the spell of their lazy morning._

_"Sounds like a wonderful dream, but lets go see what mama is doing, alright? Maybe she is making breakfast!"_

_He always lost out to his mother it seemed, watching his father get up and call for him to follow it was minutes before he finally left the bed, dragging along the blanket his father had been using, breathing through it like a gas mask and anything but his father's scent was poison._


End file.
